When time is right
by Okkkay
Summary: Written for tfanonkink. - Jazz was underage or barely of legal age when he was given to Prowl. Things may turn out OK on the long run. (M-rate for serious. Does NOT contain underage scenes.)
1. Chapter 1

The Lord of Praxus sat back in his special armchair, thinking about just HOW decadent the nobles of Cybertron had sunk in the past many vorns. Always thinking about themselves, selling their own future to another city-state just for passing favors or, most horribly for him: out of carelessness. They didn't consider what would befall their reign on the long-term as long as they got their syk and highgrade and other stimulants. Prowl wasn't a philanthropist to be worried for the everyday mechanisms in these nobles' territories - his criticism towards the nobles rooted in the fact he was one of them.

As he comfortably settled in the armchair that was built especially for his personal needs, a small message popped up on the monitor in front of him.  
V/S/B/N  
Prowl lifted up a lazy hand and poined at N for "none". No, he would need his focus now. A female Kaonian was sheduled for audition in the afternoon, and he needed all his focus on her. Nor females nor Kaonians were logical or harmless beings, and Prowl just sat back and organized his thoughts.  
What did he know about the femme?  
For one: she was a syk addict. What else? Upperclass. Forged. Designation "Extra". Her creator intended her to be regal golden with blue and white highlights, she had herself repainted to green with white. Some say this was to cover her wounds after a rust infection. Some say she caught said rust infection in the berth of the late Nominus Prime - and inherited quite some money after his tragic accident.  
Prowl couldn't tell how much the femme really inherited, but he was certain that she was capable of wasting all that fortune in one go. Prejudice? Maybe. Judgement? Of course not. Prowl couldn't judge a mechanism who might have been onlined with the same coding he was. However, a question popped into his mind: what if the femme chose another color because of the dreaded GPS? If so, she might have not been shortsighted at all. The more Prowl thought about it, the more he started to believe that Extra was anything but stupid.

The doors of Prowl's office opened, and an elegant green femme with light gray face and charmingly blue optics stepped in. Her face expression indicated distress and she looked up at Prowl as if he was there to save her. She appeared to be rich but somewhat unintelligent - Prowl immediately noted that to be a facade when his sensors picked up the heat signature of a second set of processors well hidden under her shoulder plates. The femme was looking dum on purpose.  
"Lady Extra of Kaon" Prowl bowed down to her. "What do I owe the honor?"  
That elegant movement of just one hand would have been enough to sweep any mech off his feet. Her beauty impressed Prowl, but also alerted his tactician programming to activate. All this, Prowl remembered, was a show for him. He had to play along, but he shouldn't fall for it, he knew. Or else he may or may not end like Nominus Prime did. Or worse.  
"My dear neighbor, Lord of Praxus" the female started "I am in a desperate situation. I'm worried by the crowd, frightened by the mob, and I fear that end is near. I already placed active security systems on my estates, but I fear those wouldn't last. I hired guards from Polyhex, but I'm not sure I could be safe with them. You, good sir, are rumored to be not just a remarkable noblemech, but also a brilliant strategist mastermind, and I decided to seek your advice and help."  
So this femme was feeling unsafe in the society she created, she understands that her subordinates' hunger is slowly turning into bloodthirst. Praxus had always been a safe and secure polity, not because its inhabitants were suppressed, but because there was no need to suppress them. Prowl had always been mindful of those ranking lower than him. In front of him was standing the example of what would have happened if he hadn't been.  
"Excuse me, good lady. Praxus is a peaceful polity and we need our soldiers on the borders in these hard times. As much as I wish to help you out, I cannot offer you arms without risking the security of my own people."  
"I understand that, good sir..." Ah, that look. Full of sheer desire, now. "I'm not asking you to move your warriors from Praxus."  
Now Prowl picked up a scent of propex. It was the basis of many medical liquids, but also the vehicle of artificial feromones. Heat-feromones, for example. With an inward sigh, he offlined his receptors.  
Extra's plan was clear to him, now. The female wanted to stay in Praxus for the foreseeable future. As his berthmate, she would have left the angered workers in her city-state. She would have continued to live in luxury while her home cracked under the hunger of mechanisms her kind used and abused.

Despite his offed feromone-sensors, Prowl detected how hot the female was. He couldn't help wondering if her spike was as pleasant in a mech's valve as it is said to be. According to rumors and unrelyable statistics, females were better than what any mech could ever be. The speculation behind this theory was that since they have no valves, their entire sexuality is focused into the spike. And Prowl would have normally jumped for the occasion to berth an extremely good-looking femme, but now he HAD to be sober. His life might have depended on it.

Her bright green plates connected neatly to her structural panels, her shoulder kibbles hinted an elegant and possibly flight-capable alternate mode. She must have had a perfectly symmetrical transformation sequence and a slightly curved silhouette in alt mode. Despite all his intentions, Prowl couldn't help but wonder if she could make sex in alt - interfacing with somebot with both of them in their alts was one of his favorite fantasies. He would daydream about Extra taking him in public, yes, perhaps in the middle of the Interstate Bridge, and the mechs at Maccadam's would stare out of the windows, and cheer them on, cheer them on...

No. Prowl aborted that line of thought rapidly. For that, he will have to survive. He could not let this femme manipulate him. He had to be sober. He had to keep his soldiers sober, because if she would stay with him, soon the elegant Praxian palace would be a home of intriques, jealousy, then bloodshed. Exactly what his battle programming forecasted to happen in Kaon. To be happening in Kaon, right now.  
She leant closer to him, then touched his wrist. Oh, she was hot. That innocent-looking, charming smile hinted that she was well aware of the conflict in him, but she pretended to have caused it by accident. Her charming head kibbles shivered, and Prowl could smell a second wave of propex. He had to control his thoughts. But how could he do that? How could have he resisted that light grey face that was only a few shades paler than that of Winglord Starscream of Vos? Suddenly Prowl had a few ideas why so many grounders had a crush on the Seeker. What if he could have them both? Since the femme only has a spike, Prowl could push his own into the white-red-blue Starscream. He never had a Seeker partner before, but it could have been so hot to spike into such a strong and airborne mechanism. While his own valve would be full with the green noble's spike.

That thought was definitely worth living for. But now he was in his office with Extra, and she seemed to have very much wanted something from him. Why? Prowl wasn't certain. What if the riots in Kaon were only a good excuse for the femme? Why did she want him to be so distracted, so vulnerable? Who knows how many berthmates she had at home, what if some decided to come after her? And the workers? The least he needed was a mob of criminals running amok in Praxus. No spike on Cybertron was worth that.  
After all, he had to turn Extra down. He hoped she would understand, of course she didn't. She refused to accept his decision, then started begging, then offered up anything she had, then asked for at least some ammunion that could be placed on her shuttle.  
"I will see what I can do" Prowl said coldly. OK, as cold as he could while his mind was still running with fantasies of the two of them on the Interstate Bridge.  
"I'm giving you everything I have" she said, handing over a box with white and black colors. "All I ask is your protection. If all you can focus on is your safety, then I ask you to take care of him too. What you have in your hands, sir, is all I have left."  
"Him?" Prowl echoed. Suddenly this didn't feel right. Soooo didn't feel right.  
He opened the box, and faced the intense blue light coming off of it.  
"All I have of Nominus" Extra sobbed. "Take him! At least, then, sir, YOU WILL HAVE A SPARK."  
With that, she marched out of the office.  
Prowl didn't halt her, simply because he was too shocked for that. His logical processors gave out as he processed Extra's words. He was holding a living spark in his hands, and not just that, he was holding the spark of Nominus Prime and Extra's offspring.  
He pinged his security officer and told him to give the green femme as many weapons as she can carry. Then he sank back into his armchair with the spark in his hands.

As the armchair detected its owner's weight, it popped the same letters to the holoprojector.  
V/S/B/N  
No more plotting for today, Prowl sighed. It was time for some well-deserved rest. And what if the femme would return?  
Hah, nothing. She will spread word that the Lord of Praxus doesn't take partners anymore because all he needs is his office chair that does the work on him. Prowl wasn't sure how many other nobles had armchairs like this one, but he estimated at least a dozen.  
He pointed at the S and retracted his spike's cover. He sprawled a little, only so that the panel in the armchair could rise from the surface between his legs. He settled closer, and soon he could feel the pressure against his naked spike. Yes, this was what he needed right now. A little distraction from the illogical world around him. He looked at the white and black box he was currently holding with one hand, and he gently placed it on the table. He will need to order a frame for him. He will need to look up education guides and buy various programs for the youngling. If the political situation will escalate (and Prowl was certain it would) they would also need weapons and an updated tactical programming.  
Oooooooh. The protrusion of the armchair opened its comfortably warm and smooth cavity, and its gentle vacuum sucked the spike inside. The mech didn't need to do anything, only let the pre-programmed action continue. The armchair's opening comfortably massaged the spike, pressure and suction alternating in a familiar rhythm. Touch of warm metal. Touch of wet tissue. Pull. Pressure circling from the root to the peak, twice. Gentle suction on the peak while heated metal was holding the lower half of the spike. Slight vibration. (Oh, how good it felt!) Hot liquid coming down his way, adsorbed by the sitting surface of the armchair. Pressure. Suction. Everything predictable and familiar. Prowl could focus on the more important thing.  
The spark in the box seemed to have felt the changes around him, although it was unclear whether it was calling out for its source-spark or was it reacting to the chair-generated pleasure of Prowl. Whichever it was, the mech was soon going to have his hands full with a youngster. Now that nobot else was in the room with him and the Praxian noble was enjoying his armchair's artificial pleasure, life didn't seem to be hard at all. Challenging, yes, but in general - good.  
Suction. Pressure. Prowl slightly increased the strength of the chair's actions, then moaned as he felt the artificial grip tightening on his spike. It was so good that it was almost unbearable. The suction intensified. The pace, because Prowl didn't touch that turner, remained the same.  
"Ooooooh. Uuuuuuuh. Aaaaargh." The mech muttered to himself, almost whispering, and even that only because he knew he was alone in the room. He turned the pressure even higher. The armchair's grip on him intensified again.  
"Gooooooooooood" Prowl panted, although there was nothing around him to record and process the praise. And he was aware of this, so he continued to give off meaningless moans as the pleasure continued.  
This chair was so worth the ten thousand shanix he had paid for it. It was an ideal solution for those who didn't have anyone they would trust to go to berth with.


	2. Chapter 2

V/S/B/N  
V, Prowl chose. Pre-set mode. Gentle start.  
Cybertron's sun was shining through the high windows, the colored glass and the reflecting surfaces made the entire room glitter. The mech blinked up and around him, then continued analyzing the charts he left on his table the day before.  
War. Preparation stage. Increased production of weaponry especially in Polyhex, Tesarus and Simfur. Tagan taking up loans and signing a trade agreement with its neighboring polity Tyrest.  
Not good. Not good at all.  
The armchair pressed gently against the plates between the Praxian's spike and valve, then started massaging the circular panels surrounding the valve. The protrusion moved to the root of the spike, then knocked on the closed valve. Prowl was too lost in his thoughts to react to that.  
No, these figures were not good at all. Granted, the Tri-Torus states had less to worry about the uprisings, but this was getting out of control way too fast and the outcome was unpredictable. Except for the damage. Yes, damage could be taken for granted. But how much?  
After it detected the valve covers to be still closed, the armchair started the same circle again. It stimulated both organs' outer panels, with the patience only a drone is capable of. In the middle of the third circle, finally, Prowl's valve cover retracted.  
The pressure around his spike remained, the stimulation focused on the outsides. A strong but thin and very flexible needle rose from the middle of the chair and entered the noble's valve undetected. The Praxian couldn't have lived without valve stimulation, but the incoming process was his least favorite part and since the armchair was capable of skipping that process, he more often than not opted to use this function. The almost playful pressure around his spike's cover perfectly distracted him until the thin needle was perfectly in position 0,34 metrics deep inside Prowl's most sensitive part. Then, only then, it started to unfold.

Prowl was reading a report from an undercover information specialist, and was rather unhappy with his reading, mostly because it was too accurate and too trustworthy. There was nothing to question about it. The city of Tarn had joined the uprising without a second thought. Prowl was about to look up a minor detail (didn't the so-called leader of this mob originate from there?) when he first registered the artificial metal inside his valve. Then the sensory stimulus disappeared as unnoticed as it came.

Prowl turned a virtual page on the projected material to look up who else was from that territory. Senator Shockwave. Eh... not exactly a good start. On the other hand, he came across a report about a notable police officer who had quite some history with that self-made tyrant of the miners. Where was his file? Oh. Quite impressive feats, and he came from Iacon, which is closest to Tarn and the most likely state to stop this wild mob of troublemakers.

He felt a second pressure in his valve, one far stronger and more heated than the first one, and it lasted about three times as long. Then the dildo pulled itself back to its needle-like shape, although Prowl could now feel energy radiating from it. Barely could he click the page to read more about the police enforcer when the pressure returned again, this time the metal rustled against his inner plating. Then, the piece inside him slowly turned to one side and Prowl was almost pushed to the left of his armchair. Before he could have repositioned himself, the artificial thing pushed him to the right, then it increased in size again. Prowl had once watched it doing a session without him sitting there, but he still couldn't figure out how the artificial spike could widen and thin back so quickly without using subspace technology. Nevertheless, he enjoyed it very much. Even better was the circling, which was about to start soon. Prowl turned the speed on a little.

The head of the needle, the most heated peak of the artificial spike, bent and pointed at a random surface inside him, and started drawing tiny circles on the sensitive part. It was so intense, so perfect sensation. The heat, the touch. Too bad it wasn't advised to be used more than once in a session as it could have left burn marks. Prowl sat back for a moment, and enjoyed the comfort of the false spike's moving. But before the tip of the tool straightened back to its original pose, the Praxian was already back to his charts and the war preparations.

He had a feeling he had overlooked something, and the thought irritated him beyond reason. The solution of this military danger could not, would not be delayed because of his... own issues. He set the armchair's built-in dildo to enlarge and pause until further notice.  
That caused a rather awkward feeling, but it helped him concentrate. The tension in his valve was growing as the artificial spike slowly swelled to its maximum size, and he only knew from the spec techs that it wouldn't actually tear him apart. When he felt sure it won't grow any wider, the fraggin' thing still found one more milliklep to take. Prowl silently endured the pleasurable pain, and increased his ventilation because the heated tool was getting a little too hot in temperature.

And that was the moment when Jazz waltzed in.

Prowl only gaped at the white and black robot as he cheerfully danced to the middle of the room, then noticed the happily suffering noble's expression, and dropped into his lap.  
"You're the one I can turn to with any questions, eh, Prowl?"  
The mech only gave a muted moan, but nodded afterwards.  
"Cool. Am I your slave?"  
All of a sudden, the spiked mech found his voice.  
"WHAT? No!"  
"Then what am I?"  
"My conjunx" Prowl managed. Either the spike inside had deflated a little, or somehow his valve enlarged on reflex, without his knowledge, to somehow make place for Jazz. The first option could be ruled out easily. "You are my partner, my trusted other half. You are my..." At this point, the spike detected the extra space and filled it immediately.  
"My precious friend. The daylight in my life." His valve must have grown again, and now Prowl could read his own frame's inner status: it was indeed trying to somehow make it possible for him to take in the younger mech. The dildo followed suit in a matter of astroseconds.  
"You are the sole reason I am willing to stay up all night, playing Helican checkers. The mech I refuse to live without."  
One more swelling, and Prowl moaned as he couldn't take more.  
"You are the blue gemstone I would take with me if I were to ever leave Cybertron" he whimpered. He stopped the valve-stimulant from growing even wider inside him, but he didn't let it deflate back to its bearable size. It was OK that he had a blocker in his valve when he was talking to Jazz. Otherwise he might start getting perverted ideas again.

Well, not perverted. Pervert means something not accepted in a society - and Cybertron's nobility was anything but prude when it came to making use of others. It would have simply been rather selfish and against Jazz's good.

"Are you on your buzz chair's buzzing again?" Jazz suddenly asked while he settled comfortably on Prowl's thighs. He gently rubbed his black helm to the side of the noble's Autobot-symbol face. "When will you realize it's bad for you?"  
"It's... more complicated than that" Prowl hissed. Of course he couldn't deny he was in pain. But rather that than his lust getting the better of him and losing control.  
No, that was a selfish thought. He was inwardly accusing Jazz with his need for such stimuli. While, in fact, Jazz was the reason he tried so hard to cope with his needs. He could have as well gone mad by now.  
With the dildo stabilized, he called up the menu of his chair and touched the B letter. Both. With Jazz still sitting on his thighs, he opened his legs to the protrusion. Only when the chair's matter was safely on his cover, between him and his young conjunx, did he let his guards drop and his spike be uncovered.  
There. Like this, he certainly won't harm Jazz, no matter how aroused he currently is.  
"You always say that, Prowl. Complicated. By whom, eh? Who complicated it for you, boss?"  
"... my creators."  
Jazz stared into his optics.  
"How?"  
Prowl could already feel the wet hole taking his spike in. The dildo in his valve was standing rigid. Good. He was safe.  
"I was placed in a preprogrammed frame. Happens. It was a common thing to do at my time. Quite usual for those impatient to get a fully functional mech for a certain task. My analytical skills were needed during the economical races of the Orbital Torus States."  
"And?"  
"With an adult frame, came adult viewpoints. But I had no time to develop control over them. You know what the best thing can be for a Cybertronian."  
"The closeness of another Cybertronian. Of his choice."  
"That exactly." Prowl decided to change the settings and let the valve-stimulant keep growing. Until now, he didn't know his body would react so wildly to the presence of his conjunx. Physical stimulation only seemed to have opened him up for... perhaps more to come.  
"And you said that two sparks or more can dwell into each other, and their frames would follow suit" Jazz recalled.  
"Yes" Prowl panted. "What our frame normally acknowledges as the best thing to ever happen to it, is becoming one with another Cybertronian. But, you see, this is where the glitch comes in. Sexuality, exactly because of the preciousness of this beautiful connection, is the highest pleasure a sparked frame can register. In a preprogrammed frame, however... that is only the standard."  
"What? Prowl, explain it please?" Jazz demanded. He cast a jealous look at the protrusion that had devoured Prowl's spike and was currently sucking on it.  
"When I was placed in an adult frame, it already had information on what sexuality feels like. Not the whole feeling, not the love or the connection to the others - only the physical stimulation these go with. Sexuality would normally be a source of joy, but for us, pre-mades, it is... it is an addiction."

His spike was getting massaged and pulled at the same time, the dildo in his valve made him cringe in pain. Very carefully he switched the static stimulation to pumping, hoping that to keep him stimulated enough without rupturing his insides.

"I... I think I understand" Jazz muttered. "I mean, I have seen addicts of that when I was hanging with the Black Ops in Kaon."  
Prowl grimaced again, and this time, it had nothing to do with his pleasury organs. He really didn't like Jazz being around Kroma and his friends, although the mechs knew what would happen to them if Jazz's plating would get as much as dented. But if he would have scolded Jazz for mentioning them, that would only lead to him not telling the next time. So he sat back, tried to enjoy the pumping in his valve and the vacuum on his spike, and waited for Jazz to enlight him.  
"There was a rather mean-looking mech" Jazz started. "Ochre, with purple optics. He had two slaves, rather big ones, on a stage next to the Trading Circle. Those guys were rather noisy, but not in a good sense. They were moaning, much like you sometimes, and were trying to reach into their own valves with their hands and there came two mechs who paid for the right to put dildos in them. Then they made a huge show of throwing themselves left and right and screaming and after a while they settled down and Kroma said that they will be all right for a few orns and not need to go on stage again for a while."  
"Primus."  
"You say these two were having the same gli... issue as you do, Prowl?"  
The noble straightened himself and tried to look like a noble, and not one of the very decadent type.  
"Quite possible" he said. And he will have a serious talk with Kroma very soon. What was he teaching to the youngling?!

"For your information" Prowl continued later, when his frame's reactions finally calmed down. His spike was still in the cavity of the chair, under sweet pressure from each side, but the dildo in his valve had reduced itself to the almost undetectable needle width. He only knew it was still there because the menu of the valve stimulant was still active. "This what we have just discussed is the downside of frame-sexuality. You will learn the up-side, when you'll be old enough to master it."  
"Thanks, Prowl. Mother says I should be the one to mind your needs, boss. She says it would be good for me to do that. Actually... that is why I came here."  
Prowl's face expression said it all. He'd rather let Jazz spend an entire orn with the Black Ops than let him spend one groon with Extra - but he had no say in that matter.

"Your mother expected me to take you for serving my needs" Prowl grimaced. He left the valve-stimulant in standby mode, but his arousal entirely left him. "She expected me to place your spark in a pre-made frame like it happened to me. Then I could have everything my frame needs - and many mechs of Cybertron's upperclass don't see further than that."  
Jazz rested his helm on Prowl's shoulder. There was some jealousy in his tone.  
"But you're afraid I'd not handle it well. That I would end up an addict like those guys in the market of Kaon."  
Prowl held him closer. Now that his frame's need was sated, he didn't need to fear himself hurting his friend. He enjoyed his presence, even without sexual frame-connection it was much more than company for him. It was mutual trust.  
"I want to know what I'm missing" Jazz whispered.  
"And you will. Jazzling, I appreciate that you want to help me, but this is too early for you."  
"Then talk about it, at least."  
Prowl stared in front of himself. Talk about his addiction? About how he's using a chair that was originally invented for breaking prisoners?  
"This is only a fragment of interfacing" he whispered back. "The real art of it is when not just the frames connect, but the minds too. Then the partners can share their perceptions and they will feel the pleasures of their partner's frame too. But be very careful with it. A mindlinked interface is always a two-ways connection and one must be very careful not to let slip of anything they wouldn't want to share."  
"That is why I've never seen you doing that with any mech" Jazz pointed out.  
"That is exactly correct" the noblemech nodded. "The last time I've done that was two quadricycles before you came into my life, and I had to kill the mech afterwards." Well. That was the short version.  
"But you will connect to me when I'm old enough, right?"  
"Of course I will."  
"Can I take that for granted?" whimpered his young conjunx.  
"You have my word."  
Jazz settled even closer to his partner, looking at him with innocent optics. Innocent-ish. Prowl was no fool: this mech could outsmart Ratbat and beat some femmebots in sharpshooting. He still had much to learn about his own frame, however.  
"And then, there are the spark connections. Very few mechs would do that, it is usually a once-in-a-lifetime connection. But it also lasts an entire lifetime, even when the rest of the connections are irreparably severed."  
"How?" Jazz looked up at him. "How can that be?"  
"I wish I knew. But it's really giving me a headache sometimes."  
He looked into Jazz's optics, and continued.

"Well. Once upon a time there was a slightly glitched pleasure-bot. He was nothing special, but for some reason, he wasn't as good in berth as a mech like him is supposed to be. He'd been very rarely hired, his agent mostly kept him for the sadistic clients when he didn't want them to damage the more valuable 'bots. This poor mech was assigned to a slow decay of little use and no real service he could provide. Then, one day, his life was changed forever."  
"Yes...?"  
"He'd been given to a nasty, aggressive, egoist psychopath everyone else avoided. That mech was a powerful outlander. His spark had been found on Luna-2, and a very rare type of spark I say. Looking back, in our society he really had no chance to become a normal mechanism."  
"And?!"  
"By the time they've met, they both hated the world and everybot in it."  
Prowl touched Jazz's black helm.  
"They got on extremely well from the very first moment. For the first time in his life, the psychopath had someone to care for. The small one had very clever hands, but really, that was all about him. His self-appointed caretaker helped him get the best education the Protihex Medical Mechanics University could provide. Which was, eventually, the downfall of the duo."  
"What happened to them?"  
"The young surgeon was told that leaving a few memories of his past behind would greatly improve his possibilities at work. Which was true, but... deleting everything from before the Protihex University didn't entirely separate him from his bonded. Now we have a great surgeon, Jazz, and many good mechs he later recruited for the New Institute. But. As much as they normally specialize in downregulating dangerous elements, we cannot do anything about the most troublesome mechanism. If his bonded would meet him again, we all know that Trepan would leave us without ever looking back."


	3. Chapter 3

Eventually, time came. According to the latest medical scans, Jazz's bright blue spark was mature enough to be placed into a new frame, one that would finally include proper pleasure organs. Prowl wasn't sure if the youngster's seeing him in the pleasure-chair hadn't caused some irreparable damage, but the mechling seemed to have accepted many weird events, viewpoints and scientific curiosities with one single nod, so maybe he was over-worrying the issue. Kroma had reported that he once got separated from the other Black Ops candidates on a training mission in Kalis, and later he was found holding his own against three large bullies with two other's gray corpses lying nearby. When Prowl, quite furiously, asked about the details, Jazz simply replied that he didn't want to get Kroma into trouble and he refused to say anything else about the entire mission.

"So, Prowler, aren't you going to show me what kind of hardware am I to get?" he said cheerfully. This might have been the first time he was actually dragging his conjunx towards the armchair.

"Your parts will be a lot more detailed than these" the Praxian said in advance. "It's not just about the good looks, but hey, I think you do want your interface devices to look pretty."

"Appearance makes all the difference" Jazz nodded. Prowl pressed his palm against the armchair's sitting surface, and the menu showed up on the office table.

V/S/B/N

"So, which one would you like to see first?"

"Valve. I'm sorry if it sounds selfish, but I see you taking a lot more pleasure through your valve, so I'm totally curious how that is supposed to look in action."

"Fine" Prowl nodded. "I suppose you already have seen a valve before..."

Jazz nodded with a grin, then he suddenly remembered what he should say before going into details. "But promise me you won't do anything to Chromedome for that."

"What did that polyamorous perv do to you?" the Praxian snapped before regaining his center.

Jazz went completely silent. Prowl knew that silence and Jazz together could only result in bad things.

"All right, you have my word" he sighed. With a wide and victorious smile, Jazz continued.

"He allowed me to see him work on a prostitute who had been in full contact with Senator Proteus" Jazz replied. Now that they agreed on the terms, he was all too willing to share his input with his conjunx / superior. "You see, what Proteus did is exactly what you explained to me as a careless complete interface, and Chromedome went through all those memories in order to gain the necessary intel."

"So, what did you see?"

"The prostitute was given a head-band, because Chromedome said he would not stay still anyway and if he would wobble during the process, he would break off his fingers. 'Dome was holding a rooter-like device, but trust me, it looked more like a leash with an oddly positioned collar. Then he started to recall all the interfaces the prostitute had with Proteus, and he went on all four without transforming, then he spread his legs, and Chromedome wasn't looking when I went to the opposite side of the berth so that I could see everything. The guy's valve opened up and its side panels started flipping in the air, and he moaned a little, but not in the tone you do, and he leaked out a lot of lubricant, and his suction was so strong a diagnostic drone was snatched in the air and I had to get it out of his valve or else I wouldn't have seen anything else from then on."

"Did Chromedome get anything useful out of him?" Prowl suddenly asked. "Apparently he forgot to mention to have had a good source about Proteus this month."

"This happened three groons ago" Jazz replied.

Prowl quickly processed the numbers and the date. Yes, they did get invaluable data then. Only...

"... you only received the first part of your sexuality programming four decaorns after that."

Jazz didn't see anything wrong with that. Prowl slightly facepalmed.

"OK, so, listen. A valve stimulates the...?"

"Spike."

"Press the S button."

The protrusion appeared, and along with it, the dark gray hatch with its many layers, wrinkles, adaptors and other extras. Prowl set it to an unnaturally slow motion, then went to explain the individual functions of each tool inside. He also pointed out where the sensors and the lubricant outlets are supposed to be in a real valve.

"And what is its normal speed?" Jazz asked. "Does this have a real rhythm?"

"This?" Prowl stared. "Of course not. This can be set to the needs of its user."

"You."

"Affirmative. It has a few pre-set modes, but those only represent what I would feel like getting at any given time. A real valve's rhythm and speed depend on the mood, the level of consent, it is the result of cooperation and mutually paying attention to each other."

"That was a complicated way of saying you have no idea" Jazz pointed out. Prowl reluctantly nodded.

"You have not been with anyone! Was it for me? Was it so that you could distance yourself from real mechs all around? Did you choose to let your armchair buzz you so you didn't have to be with anybot else? You've been retreating to this thing ever since I'm around!"

"Well, that won't be long anymore" Prowl said, calmly as usual. He didn't like Jazz's tirade because there was too much truth to it. More than he could bear. He touched the N to avoid further questions. The sensors in the protrusion detected there wasn't any spike in the hatch, so the entire protrusion sank back to its place. He wanted the talk to be over.

He didn't count with Jazz.

"And how does a spike work?" the youngster intrigued. "I know it is full of heat sensors and pressure receptors and wires that go uncovered in it, but how does it actually function?"

Reluctantly, Prowl pressed the V button and chose one of the never-used natural modes.

"In short, it dances its way into the valve" he said, and let Jazz watch. He didn't want to pay attention to how exactly that was supposed to go in a real, mech-to-mech interface. Of course, Jazz was only even more interested at that mention. He looked somewhat disappointed, too.

"It doesn't look like it had any spirit in it. It is doing creative moves, but there's nothing to match them together."

"Again, you're forgetting you're only seeing a drone. A real spike always reacts to the impulses from the valve."

"Or what it perceives as a valve" Jazz added. "Anything with ample pressure on it."

"Let me guess, you've seen someone masturbating to some disturbing video" Prowl sighed. Jazz grinned.

"Espionage training. We had to get a recording of any given mech, doing whatever the instructors would deem to have been done in private – the one catching the most classified moment would win. You see, they wanted us to record what was impossible to record" he cheered again.

"So who was your catch?"

"Sentinel Prime" Jazz said proudly. "Doing a 'teleconference' with Overlord."

"Hah! Why didn't you tell me about winning the first prize?"

"Because I didn't" Jazz admitted. "Getaway did."

"What did he record?" Prowl asked darkly.

"Me" Jazz admitted. "Me, hanging from the Prime's ceiling in total disguise, filming the aforementioned teleconference."

Prowl shook his head, and the two of them bursted out laughing.


	4. Chapter 4

The following scene might be disturbing, I'm going into the pain part of Prowl's addiction.

* * *

V/S/B/N  
Prowl shifted in his chair, and hit N for the fifth time that joor. He was working on the designs of Jazz's new frame, which would be in the making a few breems after he would finally finish them. There were a few details he could not decide on, he had about a dozen different sketches, all of them good, but none of them perfect.

Jazz deserved perfect.

Prowl leant back, and didn't even bother to wipe it away when the display popped up yet again. Jazz was on some mission in Iacon, not knowing his transfer would be this close. Prowl wanted it to be a surprise. They deserved a happy moment in this war.

The Praxian buried his face in his right hand's palm. With the war ravaging Cybertron, he had to ask for quite a number of favors to arrange a new frame for a mech not urgently in need of one. There was still a possibility that the body would be repurposed for a wounded soldier somewhere on its way from Tagan. The numerous manufacturers simply couldn't keep up with the demand, even though most of the popular frame types were being created in large lots there.

V/S/B/N

The letters were still lingering in front of him, but Prowl ignored them. His valve was clenching around the emptiness inside, and his spike was burning hot with the pressure against the cover. But he won't use it, not now. It would be cheating on Jazz.

He whined a little, knowing he was perfectly alone. He was a brilliant strategic mastermind from the start, but at the cost of an addiction. This armchair was proof that he couldn't be strong enough to break free. He tried a few blocking programs, but his malware detectors brought them down just like as if they were spying programs installed by the enemy. When, in reality, addiction was the enemy. A weakness. He could not have been such useful an Autobot if he wouldn't have been such glitched a person. Luckily, Jazz would be there with him for his insatiable needs from now on.

He didn't want to put too much pressure on his conjunx, however. And he knew he would be too much for a properly brought-up mech. He would have to keep the chair, and Brainstorm was already working on a dildo that could be installed in his valve so that he would keep mobile.

They didn't even live in Praxus anymore – they resided in a makeshift command center halfway between Petrex and Crystal City. He was lucky to have been able to bring the armchair with him – it was packed in advance, and was taken to the transport along with the office equipment. Flame and Highbrow have both lost most of their prototypes in the bombing. Not to mention those civilians who didn't get to the transports in time. His spark ached for them.

Without really noticing, he hit the first button. He saved all the drafts, and opened his interface panel.

Without any transition from "none" to "valve stimulation, 80% volume" the chair activated. He screamed when the artificial spike entered him, roughly, at the intensity he left the chair with the last time. Yet Prowl didn't resist it.

He couldn't resist it.

He needed this like he needed energon. He needed this mimicry of pleasure, although he was aware this was the setting a Decepticon would have well used for torture. The dildo quickly pushed its way through his valve in an almost vicious manner. There was no preparation, no fake intimacy or prelude. This was physical stimulation at the top of its bearable potential.

He was panting, he was in pain.

Sweet pain.

No. Just simple pain. Addiction-pain. If Ratchet would have been present at the time, he would have hammered the chair to shards, and perhaps, rightfully so.

After a few intense kliks, however, he started toying with the idea of turning it even more drastic. Maybe he should increase its movement amplitude? With his valve so unprepared and tight, lubricated only by the built-in sprays of the tool, that seemed impossible. He waited out yet another klik. What if he would add spike stimulation? But, just as Jazz had recently pointed out, he was getting most of the essential input from his valve. And keeping a dildo in whatever position was a lot more energy-efficient than maintaining pressure and vacuum at the same time, even a rapidly moving, heated to red glow tool would have consumed a lot less energy than the hatch would. As much as his frame was already craving for even more, he had to keep it to his internal device.

He blinked at the monitor, and noticed the valve-stimulant to have been only on 80%. Normally around the end of a session it went up to 94% or more, and hurt less.

Perhaps here was the key. Perhaps if he trained his frame that valve-pleasure starts at 80% activity, he would associate it to pain instead of pleasure, and he wouldn't demand it as much.

Or maybe he would adapt to it, and he would end up needing the maximum. There was a frighteningly high probability to this.

At a whim, he entirely stopped the dildo. It was just present in his valve, not doing anything. He tried to ignore it. He tried to ignore the need for it.

So far, so good. He would manage this way, he would finish his tasks for today, and who knows what would happen tomorrow. He would be with Jazz. He would be interfacing with his beloved, tender, living, REAL Jazz. His conjunx. His partner for life.

He tried to imagine what it would be like. With the dildo still in its fixed position, he started moving, back and forth, up and down, trying to get the sensation of actually doing something and not just enduring what was done to him. He failed miserably. Instead of any pleasure, all he got was the impression of making a fool out of himself.

Of course, the armchair was not designed to act as a real partner. It was built with nobles in mind, nobles like him, mechs who would not mind the lack of cooperation during spike-valve interface. At some point, he came to hate it.

Hate the chair, along with the addiction.

But he would be free, he reminded himself. He would be free by tomorrow. He leant forward to set the dildo to slowly decrease, to disappear unnoticeably from him, from his life.

Just then, the large display of his office table turned red. Intel was reporting, and it was a report he was not prepared for.

None of the Autobots were prepared for.

Tagan, the entire Tagan polity, was destroyed.


	5. Chapter 5

"It will be all right, Prowler" Jazz told, convincingly. Even if he didn't believe his own words, he wanted his conjunx to believe so. "You heard the info: even the Decepticons were thrown back at this level of... mass cruelty. They won't use that vesicant again."

"But once, they did" Prowl pointed out. "And there's something we won't put on our pride wall: mycopropelene was not a Decepticon invention. They used it... but it were our mechs who created it. Don't tell Prime."

"You will?"

Prowl nodded. "Yes, I will." He dropped his head, in obvious shame and guilt.

"We're at war" Jazz pointed out. "Things happen. The guys are already on Gideon's tail and we have enough material to convince Megatron not to allow its use ever again."

"We didn't see it coming. I didn't see it coming! And those Autobots at Babu Yar were under the impression that I held everything under control and they were only in danger from Decepticons, not from our own science."

"They were wrong" Jazz nodded. "You were wrong. Does that help any bit? Let us see what damage control can be done, and add one more classified file to the top secret pile. Prowl, please!" Jazz simply dropped onto his thighs like he used to when he was a sparkling. Well, in the mechanical sense he was a sparkling still, although his mind was that of an adult and seasoned warrior.

"Jazz, please, don't do that" Prowl muttered. "Your valve is only half ready. It wouldn't hold, if I lost my self-control."

Jazz grimaced, but didn't argue. He remembered what Ratchet told him last time when he was under repairs after a bombing: they didn't have the materials to create a proper valve for him, but he had a few makeshift panels of metal that would be easily removed if they happened across the necessary parts. Not to mention a spike – that would have been real waste of time and resources to build one, as it was even harder to construct than a funcional valve.

Jazz slipped from Prowl's lap to the arm support.

"I want to know what I'm missing" he said. "I think I have the right to know. I've seen you buzzed by this chair when I was young, and thinking back I'm sure you were getting off of it. I know it's no longer the case, but it is still something that I'm missing."

"You mean, you want to feel what I do?" Prowl asked. "Beware, it won't be as nice as you're imagining."

"It can't be that bad as you seem to imagine, either" Jazz pointed out.

"It is not what your first interface experience should be."

"There should not be a war, in the fist place" Jazz said, folding away a connection jack from Prowl's nearest wrist, and plugging it into his own. Prowl's fingers tightened on his thumb.

"I just want to say, I'm sorry."

With that, Prowl granted access to his personal network. Jazz immediately removed the rest of the blocks from his own mind. They could already see and feel what was happening to the other, and they could already catch sparkles of impressions that their immediate surroundings have caused. When they could feel the same rhythm tickling through their frames, a sign that their sparks recognized and accepted each other, Prowl hesitantly called up the menu. Then he let Jazz take control of his hand, and at the younger mech's will, his finger touched the S button.

Prowl intentionally set it to a very low energy, caring, gentle mode. He suspected that Jazz chose spike stimulation because that was the furthest out of his reach. Reading his mind, however, he found Jazz also wished to learn 'how it is done properly' though Prowl didn't dwell into that so deep to know what he actually meant.

He expected this session to be, at least physically, boring and ineffective. He thought he would start craving for more, or that he would do something to increase the feeling, to the point that he would actually endanger Jazz.

Yet, it was like first time to him. His sensation registered to his partner, and he got it back through the impression it left in the younger mech's processor. And apparently, Jazz found it amazing. Intriguing. And, yes, very pleasurable.


	6. Chapter 6

Prowl was reluctant to admit, but Jazz's presence in his mind helped him a lot. He didn't just sit there, risking the older mech losing control, but actually took his part of the pleasure and processed it like a normal mech would, that was beyond awesome. Prowl once asked Ratchet if he knew of any preprogrammed mechs who lived this long with insatiable interface addiction, and he was washed when Ratchet told him the simple truth.

No.

Not just in the sense that he lasted so long without a real, mech-to mech interface, one that would include valve-spike connection and also internal network connecting. Ratchet couldn't even name anyone who had this kind of addiction at all, and had lived as long as Prowl did. And, apparently, he was in better shape than anytime before.

Granted, the war had left its mark on the Praxian. He no longer had the privileges that his nobility brought, rather, he sported various battle damage from the war. But he had no scraplets nor space barnacles nor any variant of rust infection, nor any other type of disease a mech would transmit to his partner.

"I was never fond of pleasure-parties" Prowl replied. "I preferred keeping my problem to myself."

"That must have been a wise choice" Ratchet nodded. "I hear you could avoid such gatherings. And many insatiable had bonded to regular mechs, who couldn't keep up with their needs, and if they weren't as lucky as to have a harem, they ended up with infections very fast."

Prowl considered himself to be happy.

"And when they got infected, the worst part was abstinence" Ratchet continued. "I have seen mechs getting their interface panels welded for the time until they would heal, so that they wouldn't pass it on. We had to keep guard, and yet in many cases we failed."

"Did they break it?"

"They committed suicide."

"I..."

"Yes?"

"I was considering it. Several times. My dedication to my purpose wasn't always enough to help me carry on, especially under Sentinel. But Jazz... Jazz did that. I knew I was so lucky to have him, even when he was still vorns from maturing. He is why I kept going."

Ratchet nodded.

"You have been a great caretaker. Just a little more, and if we can take Petrex back, we will be able to build him proper interface equipment. I trust you didn't actually touch him?"

"Not there" Prowl replied. "Why? You said his spike only exists as design files..."

"But his valve is halfway done" Ratchet replied. "It is in the most vulnerable stage. He already has something that can be damaged, and his programming is now so synchronized with yours that he would perceive such damage as a registration error. He would compare it to the feeling when your valve was sore after you kept that offline dildo at full size for two entire orns."

Prowl remembered that incident. Soundwave picked up his insatiable lust and was trying to lure him to his berth. He only offered his spike to help him (his valve was Megatron's own, that didn't need to be said) but Prowl knew how things could go with a living partner and feared they would be down to data transfer during the interface. To avoid that, he had to keep the emergency dildo at full size until he could get some relief at base. He fought, ran, transformed and refueled like that. Of course he was horny beyond measure when he finally reached a safe haven. Eventually, he got to deflate and remove the dildo, and immediately showed up an active shockstick to its place. That had burnt out his desire for a while, although Ratchet was furious when he'd seen the results.

Prowl didn't want to imagine how furious the good medic would get if he hurt Jazz in this stage. And of course, how furious would he be with himself.

Later that day, he took precautions. He snatched clamps for his armchair, and he installed them with a coding that he considered safe enough.

And right he was to fear his own self, as when Jazz waltzed in, he suddenly couldn't think about anything else than this mech in front of him had a valve, a useable although fragile valve, and it would become his in the foreseeable future. Despite his usual calm and unselfish attitude, he could only sit in his place for one moment before he would have rammed down the unsuspecting (hm?) white and black mechanism. Luckily, that one moment of self-control was enough for the clamps to activate.

The next moment he was sitting with his legs fixed in a sprawl, the chair's front protruding only to house whatever part of his spike would unfold. Seeing this precaution work, Prowl dropped his self-control. He could feel his spike pushing against the inside of the hatch, pressing entirely against it.

"I see you are getting buzzed more than you normally do?" Jazz asked.

Now Prowl felt himself spin completely out of control. It was Jazz, his conjunx. With a valve that would actually work. One that would take him in, take him in completely and would sate him, they could share the feeling and he would finally get what he denied himself for so long. He wanted Jazz, and he wanted Jazz's valve. He tried to get up, tried to grab him, tried to pull him on his spike, tried to make him his own.

Jazz saw his conscious control crash, it wasn't the first time, although those former crashes were easily traced back to some highly illogical situation. Not this time, however.

"What is wrong, boss?" he asked.

"I want your valve" Prowl managed. "Now."

Jazz quickly decided not to call the docbot. "Is that why you clamped yourself?"

He wasn't blind, though. He could see the protrusion, and he could see Prowl trying to get up. As it seemed, his conjunx would have probably... raped him? Is rape the word for the case when somebot had been waiting this many vorns for his conjunx (conjunx!) to mature? However, Prowl's intentions were clear. He wanted to avoid such act, whatever the judicial term would be. Or else he wouldn't have been sitting so properly clamped to the armchair. Judging by the neat and regular order the pieces were positioned, he must have done it all himself.

"Shhh, Prowl, I'm here. Do whatever you feel like. You made enough precaution not to hurt me."

In despair and with shame clear on his face, Prowl grabbed Jazz's hand and connected their inner networks together. While the Praxian was looking for the feedback lines of his pleasure-parts, Jazz quickly accessed his memories regarding his newest modification to the armchair. Apparently, his first guess was correct. He could also look up the reason behind it.

And he could see further. He didn't only read the file on Prowl's talk with the docbot, he also reached out for his memories about interfacing.

All of his memories about interfacing.

Prowl moaned loud, as Jazz's systems echoed his own input, but unlike usually, he didn't get any satisfaction. Instead, he only demanded more of it. Jazz reading his mind didn't do much good to his mental stability, either.

"Remind me to buy Chromedome a cube of highgrade" he whispered as he scrolled through Prowl's memory files as a barely noticeable bystander. The Praxian, however, only went even more tense during the process.

Jazz looked him in the optics even when Prowl pulled his waist closer, in a miserable attempt to reach his valve with his spike even though the part of the chair properly held him.

An idea occured to Jazz. Maybe Prowl was not satisfied with the feedback because this time that would not (only) refer to information about the spike movement? In a normal setup, the partner was feeling not with his spike, or not only. He should have been sending data about what his valve would register.

Well, he could help that.

With his one hand in Prowl's tight grip and his waist pulled into his lap as much as the protrusion would allow, Jazz couldn't really turn around. But instead, he took control of Prowl's free hand, and directed it to dial up the menu of the chair and he added valve stimulation while also slowing down the artificial spike-pleasure. He was afraid that the chair would break if Prowl would keep dragging him closer that vehemently.

The fake spike rose inside Prowl's open valve, just a tiny needle first, barely noticeable compared to the heat around his own spike. Perhaps the Praxian wasn't even aware of it, Jazz wasn't sure. He had doubts that Prowl had any consciousness at the moment. But the younger one felt it. He felt the needle gently sliding up, and suddenly a very relieved smile appeared on Prowl's face. That's it, Jazz thought. Even if he was still not suitable to take a spike, he could relay to his partner the feeling of taking one. The complete asynchron between the two didn't seem to matter. Jazz let Prowl's own stimuli flow through him, back to his conjunx, making sure he would feel as much of it as needed.

To him, well, it was fantastic. He could only compare it to the freshly taken memory of being sandwiched, only, it was even better since both his (nonexistant) partners felt to be his conjunx. He couldn't imagine how anyone could ever get used to this wonderful feeling, his spike moving in a receptive partner while a trusted mech's spike was moving inside him. It swelled, it shrunk back. It wobbled, it stood still. It went deeper, it retreated. Jazz could feel it as if it were his own – and through him, Prowl felt it too. He moaned to Jazz (something like 'you didn't even have seals') then fell to the back of the chair as the artificial spike was pressing him that way.

The next time he leant forward, Jazz was holding him.

"It's OK" he grinned back. "You are wonderful. I can feel everything going on inside and around you, even the minor details you have long forgotten. Don't worry about me. You should know that I manage. I always manage."

"I love you, Jazz."

"And what do you think? I love you too."

"You're the best thing in my life" Prowl moaned, as he pressed his spike even deeper, now that there was no need for his self-control at all. In reply, Jazz reached back with his free hand and turned the fake spike's activity to the level that was just below Prowl's pain level. The Praxian screamed from the pleasure as he felt the tension in his valve, and also received what felt to be his own spike among Jazz's internals.

Jazz gasped. As much as his hardware didn't register anything and Prowl's wasn't stretched as much as he tended to set the stimulation, it was too much. But Prowl didn't stop, of course he wouldn't, to him, this extreme stress against his valve was the level of pleasure he could never reach. His spike in the hatch hardened to full capacity, rocking and pushing to keep up the sensation he was registering as the stimulus in his partner's valve. Of course, his own feedback lines also reported full contact.

A mindwashing overload followed, the two of them taking the maximum feed from the two types of interface panels, and neither of them cared that both devices were on the same mechanism. The Praxian gave out a loud and extremely long moan, the younger Black Ops specialist screamed out yet again in pleasure.

Finally, when their processors cleaned up enough to register that they were sitting in the same chair, Prowl's spike at full size in the tight hatch and the adjustable dildo set so large and so deep in his valve, Jazz decided it was perfect and to be repeated as soon as they both regained their higher mental functions. Until that, he dialed up the menu, chose B, and set the device for aftercare.


	7. Chapter 7

Darkness.

Cold.

Deactivation.

But wait, if he knows that he is deactivated, then it means he still has some processing capacity, doesn't it?

Emptiness.

Space?

That would make sense. He remembered space. He remembered leaving Cybertron.

Gravity. The touch of cold metal under his back.

The sparkbeat of his conjunx. The spinning of his own spark.

Then maybe he was alive, then?

Earth. For some odd reason, this was the name the locals referred to this place.

Earthen alt mode. They would all need one if they wanted to manage on this world.

Wait, he already had one. The Ark had already rebuilt him.

It had rebuilt them all.

Rebuilt them all into perfectly functional, mature adult frames.

New life ahead.


End file.
